


Perspicacity

by Irrevocably_Sherlocked, MrsNoggin



Series: Kinktober 2019 Collaborations [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, no really, this is just porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-23 04:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20885906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrevocably_Sherlocked/pseuds/Irrevocably_Sherlocked, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin/pseuds/MrsNoggin
Summary: “Yes, and that swagger, love. It drives me crazy.” John pushed up to press kisses to Sherlock’s chin, his jawline, smiling when he felt Sherlock’s breathing increase. He trailed down to Sherlock's ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth, and swirling his tongue around the flesh. Sherlock exhaled a breathy moan, tightening his grip on John’s biceps. “Makes me want to do all sorts of wicked things,” John whispered, nipping lightly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Perspicacity: (noun)  
Keenness of mental perception and understanding; discernment; penetration. 
> 
> Hello, and welcome to this fantastic collaboration between me and the incredibly talented [MrsNoggin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin) for Kinktober 2019! This is the first in a five fic/art set, featuring multi-fandom pairings. I will be writing the fics, and my dear friend will be providing her fabulous art for each installment. Please show her all the love because her art is sexy as hell and exquisite <3  
See the art here on twitter: [@AziraphallusArt](https://twitter.com/AziraphallusArt/status/1180565429120618503?s=20), and also in the next chapter of this fic.
> 
> She also is my fantastic beta and brit-picker, and I couldn't have finished this without her. Love you, my dear.
> 
> This was written for the prompt “Rimming.” As Sherlock would say, “Obviously.” ;)

John bounded up the seventeen steps to the flat, angrily stomping his way into the door, and flinging his sodden coat onto the floor. He’d deal with that another time. Right now- 

Right now was currently floating their way into the door, all six foot of waterlogged detective in a sodden Belstaff, curls plastered around his ears like a disgraced cocker spaniel. His eyes were cast downwards in an attempt at contrition, but John wasn’t buying the act for one moment. 

John stood with his hands on his hips and glared, waiting for Sherlock to look at him. 

After three full minutes, “John, I did solve the case,” Sherlock ventured, looking up at John from beneath soggy curls. 

“You did.” 

“And the murderer has been arrested.”

“He has.”

“And Lestrade was pleased.”

“Mm.”

“Then why…”

“Because, my love, in the course of solving said case, where did we end up?” 

“At the docks, but..”

“And what happened at the docks?”

“Sowersby threatened to throw me over the side, but…”

John stepped closer, causing Sherlock to back up until he hit the wall. “And then what happened, you brilliant arse?”

“I ended up in the Thames,” Sherlock mumbled. 

“Exactly. And your sodding coat dragged you down, and I had to pull you out, _after_ I helped subdue Sowersby, of course, which leads to us both being wet, and filthy.” 

“Sorry,” Sherlock whispered. So quietly, you’d almost not hear it, but it was there anyhow. John blew out a breath. “Shower,” he announced, “You reek.” 

A full forty-five minutes, two scrubs and a thorough rinse later, Sherlock finally emerged, pink-cheeked and clad in dressing gown, feather soft T-shirt, and threadbare pajama bottoms that allowed a tantalizing display of his hipbones. John gave him a quick kiss before taking his turn in the shower, daydreaming about miles of milky white skin, storm grey eyes, and sinful lips wrapped prettily around his cock. He wrapped a palm around his burgeoning erection, and let his fantasies build, there was so much they hadn’t explored yet, so much John wanted to do for Sherlock, so many ways and places he wanted to worship him, to taste him, to have him. He abruptly pulled his hand away and leaned his head against the shower wall when he realized how close he was getting. 

He finished his ablutions quickly and wrapped a towel around his hips, sauntering out to the sitting room to find Sherlock sprawled on the sofa deep in thought. Mind palace then. That wouldn’t do. 

John paused beside the sofa, drinking his fill of the vision in front of him. While Sherlock was absorbed, John would frequently do this, study and admire each glorious inch, let his eyes rove over lips and cheeks, delicious collar bones, miles of leg, and long, slender shapely hands and feet. He contemplated the feast laid out, pondering just where to start. He decided to start easy. Best not to startle Sherlock and end up with a broken nose, after all. 

Leaning over, John lightly pressed his lips to Sherlock’s forehead, lingering softly, trailing butterfly soft down to one sharp cheekbone. John pulled back, starting again on the other side of Sherlock’s forehead, over one sculpted eyebrow, to the opposite cheekbone, John’s lips the only point of contact between them. He paused, breathing in Sherlock’s scent: tea, sandalwood, and a hint of smoke. Home. He moved lower, pressing kisses to Sherlock’s jaw, before reaching his neck. John smiled when he felt Sherlock tilt his head to grant him greater access. 

“That’s very distracting,” Sherlock murmured.

“That’s the idea. Should I stop?”

“Don’t you dare. As a matter of fact,” Sherlock opened his eyes and shifted, wrapping his arms around John’s shoulders and pulling. “Oomph. Lord you’re heavy,” he grunted as John’s full weight landed on top of him. 

“Oi!”

Sherlock laughed, a full belly laugh that had John jiggling as he lay on his Sherlock-shaped perch. John joined in, resting his head on his hands atop Sherlock’s chest and just watching the mirth play over Sherlock’s features. 

“What?” Sherlock asked, crinkling his nose in the manner John found adorable, but would never say. 

“Nothing. Just thinking how beautiful you are.” 

“John—“

“And brilliant. You solved that case in two hours. Flat. It’s amazing watching you work, you know. And incredibly, incredibly arousing.” 

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Mm. You, and your cheekbones, the way you move when you have the answer, you swagger. It’s sexy as all hell.”

John watched the flush creep over Sherlock’s cheeks, endearing and arousing all at once. He loved it when Sherlock lost himself to pleasure, let his instincts take over. It was the headiest feeling in the world. John wanted to push him. 

“Yes, and that swagger, love. It drives me crazy.” John pushed up to press kisses to Sherlock’s chin, his jawline, smiling when he felt Sherlock’s breathing increase. He trailed down to Sherlock's ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth, and swirling his tongue around the flesh. Sherlock exhaled a breathy moan, tightening his grip on John’s biceps. “Makes me want to do all sorts of wicked things,” John whispered, nipping lightly. 

Another shuddering breath. “H-how wicked?”

“Should I tell you how I want you?” John kissed down to Sherlock’s neck, and positioned himself so he was laying between his spread thighs. “Should I tell you that you, and your deductions, and your swirling around in that coat makes me want to drag you into the nearest room, bend you over the desk and fuck you. Hard. Or that arse. That sinful arse.” 

John kissed down, tongue leaving hot trails on Sherlock’s neck, sucking hard on his collar bone. Sherlock moaned, his hands threading into John’s hair and holding tight. 

“Tell me more about my arse,” he panted.

John ran his tongue over the mark he’d left before continuing. “I have dreams about your arse. Did you know? Before we were together I was terrified you’d catch me looking at it. Wondering what it’d feel like under my hands, pressed up against me. What it would taste like. Oh god Sherlock, sometimes…” John sucked hard on Sherlock’s jaw, moved up to nibble his ear again. He pitched his voice low, whispering his deepest fantasies directly into Sherlock’s skin. 

“Sometimes I want to lick you open, nice and slow, take my time and worship you. Eat you out until you scream.”

“Oh fuck,” Sherlock whimpered. 

The profanity made John’s arousal pitch even higher. Of the two of them, Sherlock was not the swearer, that title belonged solely to himself. So to reduce this man to such profane depths was powerful and heady, and John wanted more. He pushed up, and captured Sherlock’s mouth in a searing kiss, sweeping his tongue inside. Sherlock moaned, his lips moving restlessly with John’s, desperate and hot, his hips shifting and rolling, as he rubbed their erections against one another.

Sherlock ran his hands down John’s back, waist, and tugged hard at the towel John was still wearing. “Off,” he muttered between kisses. Between the two of them, the towel was soon discarded, landing with a soggy thud upon the floor. Sherlock’s hands instantly found John’s arse, and pulled him impossibly closer, urging John to grind down harder. John groaned at the pressure on his cock, even through a layer of clothes, Sherlock felt amazing. They thrust against one another for a few moments, trading kisses that were more tongue than lips as they moaned into each other’s mouths. John broke away long enough to remove Sherlock’s T-shirt, sucking one dusky nipple into his mouth. 

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock moaned, his hands wrapping around John’s head to hold him in place. 

John smirked and bit gently, causing Sherlock to practically buck them both off the sofa. “So sensitive. God you’re gorgeous like this. I want to kiss every last inch of you.”

He moved down Sherlock’s torso, stopping to nip and suck at his ribs, his navel, relishing in the feel of Sherlock’s hard cock pressing into him as he moved ever lower. John hooked his fingers under the waistband of Sherlock’s pajama pants, and slid them down. Sherlock raised his hips enough to help, and they untangled themselves enough to finally remove the garment, tossing it over the side to join the towel in a heap on the floor. Once freed, Sherlock threw a leg over the side of the couch and John stretched out between his spread thighs, laying fully on his stomach. He looked up at Sherlock through his lashes, holding his gaze as he nibbled up the inside of his right thigh, his tongue tracing the dip where thigh met groin. 

“John,” Sherlock breathed, watching though hooded eyes as John moved closer and closer to his cock. 

“Mm, gorgeous,” John repeated, fingers tracing softly up the inside of Sherlock’s other thigh. He wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s cock, long and lean like the man himself, and Sherlock bucked again as John wrapped his lips softly around the tip, in the smallest approximation of a kiss. 

“God,” Sherlock groaned, reaching both arms behind him to grab the end of the couch, his hips raising of their own volition. 

John sunk down farther, taking Sherlock fully into his mouth, his tongue teasing his frenulum and swirling at the tip. He slipped off, giving teasing kitten licks down the shaft, until he could suck one of Sherlock’s testicles into his mouth tenderly, then the other. Reversing course, he took Sherlock back into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, and moving up and down slowly, following the motion of Sherlock’s body as he rocked, moans and whimpers escaping his throat. He set a rhythm, bobbing his head, taking him in as far as he could, while using his hand to reach the rest, and Sherlock was quickly falling apart; actively tugging at John’s hair, grasping his shoulder, his toes rubbing John’s ribs, as John relentlessly pulled pleasure from his body. 

John was losing his own composure, he rocked his hips into the sofa, desperate for friction on his aching cock. He moaned around Sherlock’s erection, and suddenly the hands on his shoulders became more insistent. 

“John, J-- oh god. Stop. Please.”

“Something wrong, love?” John asked, pulling off, sitting back a bit to look at Sherlock directly. 

“I don’t want to come like that.”

“What do you want?”

Even already flushed, John could see Sherlock’s blush deepen, the red blossoming from his cheekbones outward. It was incredibly endearing. He moved up Sherlock’s body, pressing soft tender kisses, meant to soothe rather than arouse, until he reached his mouth. He sucked Sherlock’s, frankly illegal, bottom lip into his mouth, lightly tracing his tongue along the edge. “Anything. You can have anything.”

Sherlock kissed him, hard, and desperate, his tongue delving into John’s mouth. John gave back as good as he got, and for a few moments, it was just this, lips and teeth and tongues, both of them panting into one another’s mouth. Sherlock broke away, cradling John’s head in his hands. “I want... what you said. Earlier,” he swallowed. “Did you mean it?”

John smiled. “Oh. Mmm.” John kissed him again, capturing Sherlock’s sigh. “I always mean what I say. Which do you want? Do you want me to fuck you? Or did you want my mouth?”

Sherlock groaned, and John could feel his cock twitch where it lay trapped between their bodies. “Yes, that,” he breathed. 

“You want it?” John had to be sure. 

“Yes. please, yes.”

“Roll over.”

Sherlock hurried to comply, settling himself on his front, legs bent underneath him, arms stretched over his head, which put his arse on beautiful display. John settled behind him. He ran his hands soothingly up the back of creamy thighs, over that lush backside, squeezing. “Have you ever…” he asked.

“No,” Sherlock whispered. 

“A damn shame. This,” John pressed a soft kiss to one arse cheek, “Deserves to be worshiped. Adored.” 

“John,” Sherlock whined, wiggling his hips in an attempt to speed him up. John, however, would not be rushed. 

“Eager, darling?” He teased, trailing feather soft lips up the back of Sherlock’s thigh, pressing hints of kisses to each arse cheek in turn. Sherlock responded beautifully, his hips rolling, chasing John, seeking contact, seeking more. John kneaded and squeezed, spreading Sherlock open, his mouth moving closer to Sherlock’s hole, inch by agonizing inch. 

“If you don’t put your mouth on me - Christ!” Sherlock yelled as John spread him open and licked one firm wet stripe right up the center of his arse. John repeated the motion, slower, pressing his tongue teasingly against the furled muscle of Sherlock’s hole, reveling in the shudders and shivers coursing through the man underneath his lips, his tongue. He alternated teasing strokes, long passes of flattened tongue, kneading the plush flesh under his fingers. 

John picked up his pace, relishing in the sounds he was coaxing from Sherlock’s body. Each pass of lips over unexplored flesh produced a sigh, each nibble, a moan, each press of tongue, a growl. John loved every sound, driving him on, pictiching his arousal higher, stretching the limits of his control. He pushed his tongue in, breaching the furled muscle, groaning as Sherlock’s body pulled him in. 

“John, ohhh,” Sherlock cried out, pushing back forcefully, his hips stuttering in their movement, as John thrust his tongue into his body, opening him up. Sherlock reached down and took himself in hand, stroking himself in time with John’s mouth, fucking himself on John’s tongue with each rock of his hips. John could tell he was losing control, his entire body stuttering and shaking as he sobbed John’s name. John couldn’t hold back any longer, he snaked a hand down his own body, wrapping it around his cock as he continued his assault. 

Sherlock practically screamed as he came, and the sound went straight to John’s groin, ratcheting up his already intense arousal. As Sherlock slumped, boneless after his orgasm, John fisted his own cock, faster, replaying each gorgeous sound that he’d coaxed from those sinful lips. 

“On me, do it,” Sherlock slurred. 

“Oh fuck, oh Christ,” John panted, fucking his fist in earnest, as he crouched over Sherlock’s prone form. Five or six more strokes had him at the edge, and he cried out Sherlock’s name as he came, his come painting stripes on that glorious arse. 

“Hell,” John said, collapsing on top of Sherlock. 

“Mmph,” Sherlock grunted. They lay there for a moment, each trying to remember how to breathe. “John?”

“Mm?”

“You’re still heavy.”

“You’re a right arse, you know that?” John laughed, slipping off of Sherlock’s back and flopping back on the other end of the sofa. 

“You love my arse.”

“God help me, I do.”

Sherlock rolled over, smirking at John, and tangled their legs together. 

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?”

“You need another shower.” 


	2. Artwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artwork for the wonderful fic by the fabulous Irrevocably_Sherlocked, by me, MrsNoggin. It's a bloody honour to be linked to this fabulous writer in anyway whatsoever, and I am so chuffed to be here!
> 
> CW: Character nudity.


End file.
